Child in the Rain
by Eleida
Summary: A story about a young boy who fought at Helm's Deep. Very sad, very depressing, and incidentally, my first LOTR fic. Maybe it should by PG-13, there's quite a lot of violence... Reviews would be greatly appreciated.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all.**

** AN: This story takes place at the battle of Helm's Deep. When I saw TTT, I was particularly moved by the sight of the young boys in the battle, and felt moved to write something or other. This came out. It's very depressing—I actually started crying when I wrote it. But I'm a hopeless sap, so never mind me...**

I should have been out running and the Rohirrim fields, wrestling my brothers and racing my friends. I should have been teasing my little sister, or studying at home with my mother. I should have been playing on the lawn, fencing with my friends using long sticks, whooping out long warcries. I should have been staring at the sky and dreaming of the future, when I would be proud and strong, and my people would look to me to save them from the evils of the world. I should have being playing at war, not going to war.

But the days of standing in the sun and laughing in the tall grass were long over for my people. My childhood was taken from me, stolen by the dark shadows that overbore my people. Stolen by the traitor and the coward who slew my father when his back was turned, who made my sister wail in night for years, and made me cry into my threadbare pillow eve after eve. 

I knew none of the carefree happiness of a child. I knew only doubt and sorrow, anger and pain. And fear, fear that no one, let alone a child, should ever have to have known. The intense, deep, sickness that ran through me, clawing away at my stomach, gnawing away at my heart.

It was like a dream come true when they asked me if I could bear a sword. I was so proud that they had turned to me to protect my country. I would step into the shoes my father would have filled, with my older brother along side me to make our family proud. I felt elated as they fitted me with the too-large garments of a Rohirrim warrior, and I strutted around the stone walls of Helm's Deep, showing them off to my family. My sister clapped in excitement, sharing my pride, and my envious younger brother stared up in awe. My mother praised me for my valiance, and told me of her pride in me. At the time, I did not see that the proud smile on her face was bitter, and I could not tell that the bright sparkle in her eyes were from unshed tears. I did not see that behind the façade of praise her face masked an anguished sorrow no person can write or say, the anguish of a mother who is seeing her nightmares come true before her eyes.

But my ignorance could not last long. Soon I heard the words whispered from grim faces – 'There is no hope." And soon I recognized the desolate desperation in the eyes of every man, and realized that this was no game. The knowledge came down on me, more brutal than any sword or spear, and it pierced me. I heard all around me a sound I had missed before; the bleak and helpless silence of a people who are waiting for their doom.

The waiting lasted an eternity, with my new knowledge beating a hole in my heart. I sat with tears in my eyes, frightened of what was going to happen to me. And finally I heard the distant marching, the rumble of ten thousand feet pounding out a steady rhythm in the ground. The thumping of my own heart seemed to echo the sound as I stood at the wall with the other soldiers.

I stood still, and I watched them come nearer. A soft rain began to fall as they approached, and I saw the metal on their shields glistening far away.

Ten thousand. I had heard the number, but I had not seen it. I had used it idly in play – "And then the great warriors step forward and slay ten thousand beasts with their mighty swords!" I remembered calling to a friend as we wove a story in which we saved Rohan from certain disaster.

But then I saw the endless body of orcs storming towards us, and there were more of them than my childish imagination could have dreamed possible. Many times I closed my eyes, trying to wish them away. Then I would stare at the black sky, yearning for my mother and the safety of the caves where she was – even though I knew in my heart that they were not safe either. The horrid helplessness filled me. There was no end to them. They just kept coming, and coming, ever closer, bearing to us our fate.

And then finally, the thundering of feet ceased, and I opened my eyes. I looked on the army of monsters. They were the kind of creatures even my worst nightmares had never seen, and in my short and troubled life, I had had many nightmares. And as the first arrow flew and the battle began, I stood frozen on the wall.

A crossbow fired so close I could feel the wind on my cheek and in my hair. It woke me from my stupor, and I stumbled backward. The sounds of battle saturated the air, bouncing off the stone walls, echoing in my mind and in my heart. The cold clash of steel, the ugly roar of orcs, the dying cries of men.

I clambered for the heavy sword at my side, and struggled to lift it, only to drop it at what I saw next. An orc was passing near my brother, who raised his blade valiantly. The orc didn't pause to strike a courageous pose – with one swift movement he clove my brothers head from his neck, tossing it asunder, and moved on without a pause.

I stood frozen. I could not move. My brother, who had stood beside me. And I knew in that moment that, I would not be able to go on. Everything was hopeless. And even if we won, an idea that seemed impossible watching the orcs in their slaughter in the black night, I knew I would never sleep again, that I would never close my eyes and not see the sight of my brother's head rolling down the stone or not hear the sound of men being slaughtered. It was all over for me.

I did not see the orc that struck me down; I did not feel it. I was thinking of my father, and how ashamed he would be. He was brave—why was it I could not do the same? Why was it that I had this horrible fate forced upon me? Why was it so many of my friends and family had died, and were dying, all for a lost cause? They were questions my young mind could not answer, and I felt only a profound sense of lost confusion. There was so much I did not understand, and I would never know now. 

My time came and went, my chance at doing great things snatched away before my very eyes; my dreams of valiance tossed away into the gutter before I had ever finished dreaming them. There will be many tales told of the brave acts and deaths of soldiers in the battle of Helm's Deep, but mine will not be one of them. My story will never be told, and my blood was shed needlessly. I was a life wasted by cruelty. My memory is lost in time, like my tears as they fell in the rain. 

** AN: This story was going to have a happier ending, but then I read another story (I stood by Imp) that was very similar, and had a happy ending – so to make it different, I rewrote the ending. Maybe I'll post my happy ending as another chapter, if the reviewers so desire… And there will be reviewers, right? Right? Please?**


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